The Things We Do for Hate
by MostDefinitelyFlorentine
Summary: *PART TWO OF THE THINGS WE DO SERIES* Sequel to The Things We Do for Love. Ben wakes up in a mysterious room with absolutely no memories-now he must find a way to escape an alien beamer and find a way to defeat the aliens.
1. Flashback

I woke up with a pounding head, a bloody nose, and a complete loss of identity.

What the heck?

I didn't remember my name (well, at least I knew that I was a guy, that helped). I didn't remember why I was here, or who brought me, or what they looked like. This would later prove to be a problem.

I took in my surroundings—hmm. I had absolutely no idea where I was. The room I was in was dark and sparsely furnished, if at all. The walls were dark green and seemed to be intricately woven out of alien vines and the floor was rock-hard and totally black.

Only when I tried to get up did I realize that my hands and feet were tightly bound by thickly twisted copper wire. If only I could remember what had happened to land me in this peculiar holding cell. As if to answer my question, I was suddenly overcome by some sort of dreamlike flashback . . .

_I pause with gun in my hand, still warm. What have I just done? I tried to kill a fellow fighter—why did I do that? _

_I am standing near two of the aliens—they're panicking, I can sense it. Something, some part of their plan has gone horribly wrong. I can't tell what._

_My body stiffens and becomes rigid. I drop the gun, though I don't mean to. I try to bend over and pick it up, but I can't. I recognize this feeling; I'm being controlled by those hideous skitters again, just like when I was harnessed. They made me shoot her. This tiny piece of information makes me feel slightly better, but I had bigger problems to think about. _

_Hal stirs somewhere around me, but there's nothing I can do to help him now. I have faith that he'll be able to take on the remaining mechs and skitters with Dad's help._

_Still under the influence of the skitter to my left, I turn around slowly and begin to walk in the opposite direction, away from Maggie. _No_, I think, _I can't just leave her there! _ But I continue walking towards a distant blue light behind the airport, unable to stop or turn back to Maggie, whom I have left dying in the terminal._

_I jump out a window and scratch my thigh in the process. The part of my body that is still mine screams in protest, but there's nothing I can do to stop whatever's happening. I continue towards the light._

I broke out of the trance, gasping from shock and surprise. It must have been a memory from my past—most likely not that long ago judging by the nasty slash on my thigh and the fact that my clothes were the same in both the memory and the present.

I wondered for a moment how I could possibly see my clothes in the pitch-blackness. I scanned the room again, pausing on every detail and seeing amazing things, like the individual fibers on the vine-walls and the molecules that made up the flooring. Wow.

I collected my thoughts and reviewed what I already knew. I was harnessed, whatever that means. It also looks as though aliens have invaded Earth and wanted this Maggie person dead for some reason. I knew a guy named Hal, and I had a dad. The skitters, or whatever they're called, had been controlling me. I also knew that there was nothing I could do to stop these things.

My head snapped up at the sound of footsteps. Not human footsteps, either.

Something was coming for me.

**A/N: Hey guys, back again, this time with Part 2. It's longer than Part 1, with more stuff to follow, so it may get a bit confusing. If it does, just PM me and I'll answer your questions.**


	2. Senses, Strength, Endurance

My heart beat frantically as the thing approached from down a corridor—it sounded like it was walking on more than two legs, maybe six or eight. I struggled against my bindings to no avail. I was at the mercy of a skitter.

It slid back a sort of door and entered my cell. I almost passed out from the shock of seeing one of these in real life; my flashback had not prepared me for the actual thing itself. It did indeed have six legs, but only had two arms with graspers on the ends. Its head was elliptical in shape and while it had two black eyes, it had a sucker for a mouth. It skittered (excuse the pun) across the cell in a flash and knelt down next to me.

I was caught off guard by the next thing it did. It began making hissing, screeching noises, and, for some strange reason, I understood them.

"**Ah, Ben Mason, we have you again. Did you not miss us? Surely it is better here than with the resisting fools.**"

So that's my name. All the blood drained from my face. How could I convey to this creature that I had no memory?

"**You need not speak. I hear your thoughts.** **It is a shame that you have lost your past—a shame for you. You have no memories of your family, making you all the better for us to destroy them with.**"

Destroy my family? Sure, I didn't remember them, but I had no desire whatsoever to kill them or do anything to help the vile beasts.

"**I do not require a 'harness' to control you, Ben Mason. You shall as I command.**"

Uh, I didn't think so. Who did this guy think he was?

"**Only the general of the Massachusetts Base Camp.**" It paused, distracted.

I took advantage of its lapse in attention and asked out loud with as much confidence as I could muster, which was certainly not much, "Where am I?"

It emitted a low rasping noise that could have been a laugh. "**I believe your kind calls them 'beamers'. You are aboard one of our many ships. For now you will wait until the Overlord wishes to speak with you. No doubt he will want a word.**"

It had started to make its way back across the room when it stopped and turned around, facing me once more.

"**I have many uses for you, Ben. And so does the Overlord. You will prove to be a most invaluable weapon in annihilating the human race.**"

And on that happy note, it left the room, closing the sliding door on its way out.

The time passed slowly in the General's absence. I amused myself by playing with my new sight, hearing, and scent; though I couldn't say the smells were the best, even by my amnesiac standards.

I took notice of the bars on the sliding door—tied together in an indescribable fashion that could only be from another planet—they were evil, of course, reflecting the intentions of the aliens they were made to serve, yet beautiful somehow, in a disturbing, poisonous way.

I had been lost in my thoughts for what may have been hours when I was hit by another flashback.

"_Ben! BEN! Where are you? It's dinnertime!" I am startled by Hal, who has come looking for me. I am behind an abandoned John F. Kennedy High School bus, skipping rope. Gosh, it sounds stupid when I picture myself. _

_But I don't stop. Hal finds me within seconds—he's good at stuff like that, locating his brothers, wherever they may be—and he stops in front of me, making some smart #% comment about me being a math geek._

"_So this is the math geek's attempt at exercise?" he teases, and I try my best to ignore him. I continue jumping._

_Hal makes a move to grab the stopwatch on the ground next to me, and, before I can get to it first, he has it in his left hand and is squinting at the number on it._

"_Two hours and fourteen minutes?" he asks, all traces of a smile gone from his face. "Back at home, before the invasion, you couldn't exercise for ten minutes! And look, you haven't even broken a sweat!" I stop jumping and snatch the stopwatch back, muttering, "I must have hit the button before I got out here." _

_I leave to go inside for dinner, but not before I catch a glance at Hal's slightly worried expression._

The memory vanishes as quickly as it came. What I learned from that memory confused and alarmed me. I shook my head, banishing the thought. _So I have great endurance, as well as super senses_, I think. _Not a big deal._

But just as soon as I gather my thoughts, I am hit by another wall of memories, this time a little bit different.

_My heart flutters. Cleo's standing so close to me, I'm having trouble breathing. Uh-oh, she's saying something, what's she saying? Get a handle on yourself and listen to her, Ben!_

"—_and your Dad asked us to go down to the basement to get some boxes of equipment," she says, gazing up at me, smiling faintly._

"_Um, yeah, sure." I come out of my Cleo-induced daze. "Let's go," I say with my most dazzling smile. She giggles. Probably not so dazzling. _

_We walk to the door to the basement together, making small talk. I really hope I'm acting okay. We reach the entrance and like a gentleman, I open the door for her and her go in first. She blushes scarlet and I follow her down into the darkness._

_We end up groping around in the pitch-blackness, looking for the equipment. I can see just fine in the dark, I just don't want to scare her._

_Cleo yells at me from the other side of the small room we're both in. "Hey, Ben, I think I found the radio equipment! It's buried under this crazy nude statue, though . . ." I laugh and cross the room to help her lift it. In one swift movement, I have the statue well out of the way and the equipment box in my arms._

_Cleo's eyes widen, lighting up the darkness. "How did you do that?" she whispers, no longer laughing._

"_Do what?"_

"_Lift that statue like that! It must be two hundred pounds!" I shrug it off, holding my breath. I expect her to back away in fear and horror because of all the things I can do after having my harness removed, but instead she simply acts as though it's nothing worrying—anymore, at least._

_I breathe a sigh of relief. _Thank God she's not the type to judge_, I think, _'cause I really like this girl . . . .

Oh. I had a girlfriend, or a friend that's a girl. My heart raced at the sight of her face, even though I didn't remember who she was. I mulled over the contents of this particular flashback, especially the adorable way her caramel-colored hair settled on her shoulders, for a bit, then suddenly realized, _I have super strength. _

I knew what to do. I wrenched my fists and feet apart, breaking the copper wire easily. I approached the door with extreme caution, as if the General might pop out all of a sudden and go "**BOO!**" but that didn't happen.

I broke the door and proceeded into the corridor.


	3. Tortured

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to post , but here's Chapter Three. PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you think.**

I darted through the empty corridors, sticking to shadows in a desperate attempt to remain unseen. I may have almost no knowledge of these skitters and Overlords and mechs, but what I did know was that whatever happened, I had to make it out of this ship.

I halted for a moment, listening for any sounds of activity. I projected my amazing hearing through the halls and rooms, taking in no sounds of skitters, but instead hearing faint human breathing from each of the cells.

I debated silently about whether I should risk my life, or at the very least my freedom, for these random people, but in the end, human compassion won. I stole inside one of the cells nearest to me, snapping the bars as quietly as possible.

Nothing, nothing at all could have prepared me for the horrifying image that was laid out in front of me.

There was a girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, lying on the floor. But that wasn't the scary part. She was mutilated from head to toe, so badly injured that it was not even remotely plausible that she would still be alive. Nevertheless, I knelt down beside her, feeling for a pulse. Nothing.

It was then that I noticed the thing on her back. It was glowing faintly, dimming with each and every second, and resembling a worm or an advanced kind of insect. I tried to pull it off, but it would not budge. I felt a tingly sensation starting at the base of my neck and creeping down my back. I raised a single hand and felt the neck and back. Spikes ran along my spine. I shuddered.

Sensing something amiss, I quickly exited the cell and rounded a corner just in time to see a skitter, not the General, go into her cell and drag her out by her feet. All the while I heard it saying under its breath, "**And that is what happens when they try to escape . . .**"

I suddenly felt very cold, but still waited until the skitter was long gone with the girl's body before continuing down the corridor to my right. I had no idea where I was going, so I would like to say that I wasn't surprised when the General caught me.

I was, though.

Hissing with anger, he grabbed by the scruff of my shirt and led me down the opposite hall, with me thrashing around and screaming obscenities. I was sure that he was going to kill me—or worse, force me to kill someone else that I cared about.

He dragged me (literally dragged, I wasn't going down without a fight) into a circular chamber with alarming décor. The walls and floor were drenched in blood—fresh, vermillion human blood. In the middle of the room there was a steel table with a hole at one end and leather straps all over. Snarling things I'd rather not repeat, the General swept me up and laid me down—not so gently, I might add—on my stomach with my face sticking out of the head-hole. Fighting viciously with no results, I tensed my muscles as he strapped my arms and legs to the table.

This is the scary part.

He then took a long, faintly glowing, stick that I had not noticed before from the side of the room and brandished it in front of my face underneath the table.

"**Do you see, human boy?**" the General growled. "**We could have done it my way. But now that you show resistance, you will know what happens when you leave your cell unaccompanied.**"

He straightened up, but not before saying one last thing: "**Feel my wrath.**" I was trembling with fear and sick anticipation. I had a feeling that wasn't an ordinary old stick that you could find in someone's backyard.

The tip crackled with electricity. An alien cattle prod, that's what it was. The General touched it to the small of my back and my entire body erupted in agony—

_Fear clouds my senses as I come to in a dark room. I am surrounded by at least ten other children—some crying, some praying, some just staring off into space with blank expressions. _

_I know where I am. I remember the aliens catching me and bringing me here. I wonder what will happen now—why didn't they just kill us when they had the chance? Surely death would better than whatever they have in store for me._

_I curl up into a tiny ball and let the sadness overwhelm me. The last thing I saw before they snatched me is simply too hard to bear. They killed my mother—I watched them, they wouldn't let me turn away. I witnessed the gore from the sidelines, unable to do anything to help her or save her. Dad, Hal, and Matt are probably dead by now, too._

_Then a little voice whispers in the back of my head, "If they wanted Hal and Matt for the same reason they want you, then surely they must still be alive." That comforts me a bit. _

_Suddenly, the door crashes open and all #&% breaks loose. One of the grotesque alien being grabs several of us, including me, and drags us to a separate room. We are too terrified to shout out. _

_I quake with fear as I lay eyes upon the contents of this chamber. There are hospital beds in neat rows, each containing one kid. The alien thingy ties us to our beds and we wait. I am looking around the best that I can in my restraints—there is a reddish, glowing fish tank in the middle of the room, which I suppose is somewhere in a hospital. Looking closer, I realize that those aren't fish in that tank. There are evil-looking, creatures that look like the three-way illegitimate lovechildren of a lobster, a worm, and a highly poisonous insect swimming around in the murky water. _

_I hear a slow, deliberate creaking noise as a door on the side of the tank opens. One of the creatures slithers out onto a slide that leads to the boy next to me. He is small, no older than eight or nine. Even so, he cries for his mother, who is most likely already dead._

_The thing slides onto the boy's back and, with a disgusting squelch, attaches itself to him. The boy stops crying. He is either unconscious or dead, and I can't say that I'm anxious to find out which. I struggle futilely against my binds, but before I can do much of anything, the door creaks open again. This time another creature makes its way to me. Terror seizes my body as it arranges itself on my back._

_Burning pain courses through my veins like liquid fire, refusing to be quenched. I fight to stay awake, fight against the pain, but it is no use. The creature fuses to my spine and my vision goes completely black._

Panting, I breathed a long sigh when the General withdraws the device. "**That should be enough to teach you your place.** **Soon the Overlord will speak with you.**"

Well, the distraction of the vision made the pain slightly more bearable, and I learned some more of my past. I had to say, though, that with every minute of every hour I was on the ship my hatred for the skitters grew. They killed my mom and probably Maggie, whoever she may be, they stole me from my family and harnessed me, and they controlled me and would use me to help them kill the remnants of the human race. How, I had no idea. I just knew that I couldn't let that happen.

The General, muttering under his breath, led me back to my cell to await the summons of the Overlord—most likely another skitter, but I wasn't so sure.

I sat in the near-darkness, going over what I knew. They wouldn't kill me; apparently I'm too important. I also knew that without a map or directions, I had no chance whatsoever of getting off this ship. And even if I did, there was no guarantee that we weren't in outer space at the moment.

I used my super-ears to listen to any sounds outside of the ship. I heard the faint rustle of trees, which is reassuring. We were on land, though for how long, I wasn't sure.

I decided to try to get some sleep—I only just realized exactly how exhausted I really was. I lay down on the cold, hard floor and closed my eyes.

Bemusing images and familiar faces haunted my dreams—I recognized Cleo's round, happy face and Hal's dark hair and defined cheekbones. But there were others; people that I was positive I knew, but had no memories of. I was grateful for the chance to rest nonetheless.


	4. Boredom

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter. I've been working on rewriting descriptions of the alien beamer—I want it to seem as accurate as possible. As for Part 3, it looks as though I've written myself into a dead end, so bear with me.**

I drifted in and out of sleep for who knows how long. I couldn't tell the time, seeing as there was no sunlight to go by, so I estimated that I had been on the ship for about a day. My stomach grumbled. _Who do I have to kill to get some food around here?_ Not that I was eager to sample exotic foodstuffs from the planet of the skitters. They probably lived off rotting meat and space-age slugs.

_I wonder what slugs would taste like. Maybe chicken._ No doubt about it, I was bored—stooping as low as to actually contemplating the taste of slugs.

_Urgh. We're on Chapter four already—shouldn't something exciting be happening by now?_ I thought. _It's called plot development, people. Wow, the author is an idiot._

Nevermind.

I was going stir-crazy in my cell with nothing to do. I tried doing push-ups, jumping jacks, jogging in place, and just jumping up and down looking like a crazed maniac—which was what I was heading towards at the rate I was going.

I thought about my memories to pass the time. I wondered if my family missed me. Probably not, judging by what I did to Maggie back there. I hoped she made it.

Maybe I had friends who were worrying about me. I would've bet anything that Cleo was. I searched my mind for a sign to indicate that I remembered the love I so obviously had felt in the memory. My heart sank to my legs, but nothing else.

I slammed my head against the wall in frustration. _Ouch_, I thought. I guess I'd bonked it harder than I had meant to. Stars circled my vision, making me woozy. I sank to my knees just in time . . .

_People stare at me as I pass them. I suppose I should get used to this—no use in being bitter about it. I should just be grateful that Dr. Glass managed to get the harness off, even if that means I'll have these spikes for the rest of my life._

_I move to the group of kids eating lunch in the school courtyard and sit down on a bench next to one of them. He glares at me and the whole group moves inside. I sigh, then I notice Rick sitting alone not far from me. I pick up and move to his bench, feeling sorry for him. And me. I guess us "spiky" kids have to stick together or something. It's the only way I'm ever going to get a friend._

_I sit next to him and try to be nice, making small talk. "Nice day out, isn't it?" And it really is. I just hadn't noticed._

"_They will come back for us, you know. We're not alone. We just have to wait." I definitely wasn't expecting that. Rick doesn't talk much, if at all._

"_E-excuse me?" I stutter._

"_They have not abandoned us. We are lucky. They will rescue us from here," he continues, scaring me, his words making me mad._

"_I don't want them to 'rescue' us or whatever! I HATE what they did to me! You think I want to go back?!" I yell. We have an audience now._

"_They will come." And with that, Rick gets up and leaves. I stew in my own anger. I can't say that I'm sorry to see him leave—we were making a scene, but the show's over now._

_My blood stills boils as parents usher their children out of the courtyard, away from me. I eat my lunch in silence. _

_After a few minutes, just as I am getting ready to leave, a girl about my age, with waist-length, light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, plops down next to me with a sort of irritable confidence. I snap at her, "Oh, you don't want to be near me, I'm dangerous!" _

_If the comment stings, she doesn't show it, and remains there, unperturbed. She blinks once and calmly says, "I honestly don't care if you've been harnessed. You look like you could use a friend."_

_I'm startled, and it shows on my face. She raises a hand to shake and says, "I'm Cleopatra, but nobody calls me that, for obvious reasons. I'm known as Cleo."_

_I tentatively shake her hand, unsure if this is some sort of cruel joke. A happy grin spreads across her face. It looks like I have made a friend, finally._


	5. The Overlord

**A/N: This here's not the final chapter, mind you. I'm just stuck on Part Three, and with school rapidly approaching (er, tomorrow), I won't have time to much writing. For Part Three, my friend Hope (wombat-of-awesomeness) suggested that I write one chapter and leave you all hanging (all being the two people that read this. Hope and my mother. Whoopee.), but I don't want to do that. Hopefully (no pun intended, Hope) I'll have some sort of "EUREKA!" moment where a good plot miraculously falls into my head, but for now, it's panic time.**

I was woken up by the distinctive gait of the General as he slid open my cell door again, this time to bring me food and water. I gulped down the bitter-tasting liquid and gnawed on stale bread and tough jerky. The General studied me while I ate, turning his head at an angle, as if trying to observe every inch of me. Come to think of it, that was exactly what he was doing, perhaps to describe to his cronies my features and behavioral habits.

Immediately after I polished off the meager meal, he drew out his cattle prod and urged me forward and out of the cell. I could only assume that he was taking me to see the Overlord.

I attempted to memorize all the twists and turns we took to go wherever we were going, but it seemed to be the purpose of the corridors to confuse the captives, presumably to make it harder for us to get anywhere unguided. Though after the events of this morning, I wasn't exactly eager to make another feeble attempt at escaping.

Eventually we came to a locked door. The General withdrew a set of keys from his belt (why hadn't I noticed them before?) and opened the door. We continued down many more hallways and locked rooms until we arrived at a larger door, at least, larger than all the others we went through.

This one was unlocked. The General knocked three times with a certain rhythm that I made sure to take note of. It might be useful later.

"**Enter**," came a regal, booming voice that sounded quite unlike the General's or any of the other skitters'. Two guards on either side of the double doors opened them.

What I saw took my breath away, and I don't mean that as a good thing. Dimly lit inside, it strongly resembled both the torture chamber and the harnessing center—blood everywhere. But this was not the blood of humans. It was dark red and hinted subtly at some differently colored undertones. The interior was like a science-fiction movie; futuristic, glowing red, indescribable. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Ignoring the little sparks of recognition in my stomach, I strode forward, facing the thing in the throne.

It was humanoid, yet tall and elongated, with grayish, translucent skin and a cold, intelligent look in its eyes that was completely inhuman. It towered over me, at least twice my size. I guessed that this was the Overlord.

I tried to appear confident and fearless, but no doubt to it I looked like a golden retriever puppy that really had to go to the bathroom. In other words, pitiful. He laughed, a chilly and mirthless sound that iced my bones to the core.

"**So this is the brave little escapee?**" he laughed again, this time sounding sickly gleeful. "**Only memory loss could make one who has experienced my power so stupid.**"

I bristled. Anger shot through me, an emotion so familiar that it was almost comforting. I did not want to meet his eyes for fear that I would totally lose it, so instead I fixed my gaze upon his throne. I gasped as I saw what it was made of. Bones. Black, human bones. My anger swelled into bitter hatred.

The Overlord could sense this. "**Ah, you do not like my furniture! It was made carefully, only out of the finest that my warriors killed. Thus to prove my point, you will not find your mother's remains in my presence. Too worthless and dirty.**"

That did it. I didn't know if he was trying to incite me into acting rashly, but I didn't give a flying #%&. In one adept, strong movement, I wrenched myself from the General's grasp and lunged right at the vile, mortifying scum, roaring with blazing fury. I had no idea at all how to kill the thing, I only knew that even if I didn't remember my mother, I would still defend her honor as I would for Hal or Matt or Cleo.

Time moved slowly. My vision was red with anger, making it difficult to see. I bared my teeth in a wild snarl and thought quickly with the piece of my mind that retained some lucidity—another memory flashed by my so fast that it wasn't even enough for a vision. All I got out of it was a switchblade. I usually kept one strapped to my thigh. I fumbled for it, feeling the holder, and drew it out, flicking the knife. A nine-inch blade swished out and I made an insane assumption. I hardly noticed the General and both the guards rushing towards me. I thrust the knife out into the first bit of flesh I encountered—thankfully, not my own. The Overlord howled in surprise and pain as he clutched his right leg to his chest, bluish blood dripping from it.

My victory was short-lived, however. The General got to me before the Overlord did and a wave of electricity swept me off my feet. I caught a glimpse of the cattle prod again.

I resisted. I had no memories to distract me from the pain, but the blazing hate in my heart overtook the weapon's power. They could control me no longer. I rose from the floor, startling the inhabitants of the room but not deterring the General from his torture. I grit my teeth and as suddenly as a single beat of a hummingbird's heart, I remembered.

Not just a flashback or a feeble trickle this time. I remembered _everything_. All my memories came flooding back. Dad. My brothers. Mom. Cleo. The 2nd Mass. The distrust that everyone always showed me there simply because of the spikes on my back. The revulsion that drove me to want to destroy every last invader on the planet. I remembered my _life_.

I shook the pain out of my head as easily as water after a cold swim. No longer feeling anything except for the blinding, indescribable hatred that caused me to rip myself out of the reach of the skitters and take hold of the cattle prod, I jumped onto the Overlord's throne and plunged my blade as deep as it would go into the Overlord's heart. I moved so fast that even he couldn't keep up, the almighty and powerful Overlord.

He was an alien, though.

Which means that they don't necessarily keep their hearts in the same place that we do.

#&%.

He managed to wheeze out a chuckle, along with a swiftly spoken order to his guards and the General. I recovered from my surprise quickly, though, and removed my knife from the Overlord. In a blur, I sliced off the General's head and moved onto his compatriots. The guards backed away, frightened, but that didn't stop from bashing their heads together and finishing them off with a stab to the nerve palate in their mouths.

I turned to the Overlord, who was too weak to move. There was no longer confidence and haughtiness in his eyes, but terror and alarm. Then he grinned, which I was definitely not expecting.

"**Foolish boy. You know not of how to defeat me, and even as I speak, more fighters are on their way to kill you. I was wrong, I am afraid. You are too much trouble than you're worth.**" He coughed.

But I wasn't finished yet. The fire inside me had not yet gone out, and I advanced towards the Overlord, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

"**There is many more of our kind, you see. We hail from a planet known as . . . .**" No. I knew this tactic. He was delaying me, wasting time on pleasantries and mildly interesting conversational tidbits.

As he spoke, I searched his body for a weak spot. I knew he had one. My eyes rested on a delicate flap of skin just behind his left knee. It was made of a similar type of tissue that our private parts are made of. So, either a spot where I could kill him or his reproductive organs. Worth a shot.

I casually sauntered on over to him as he drabbled on about his favorite foods on his home planet, his babbling slowly growing more and more frantic and insane. I paused. He was saying something that may be of use to me.

"**Yes, yes, they are coming to get you, they will kill you, they will kill your family, yes, you are doomed, you could never defeat us without the secret code to disable our warships, which you shall never know! No, never! Never! Ooh, look, something shiny . . . !**" he ranted, sweating pooling at his temples.

Hearing the sound of advancing skitters, I picked up the cattle prod from the floor and waved it in front of his face. I wouldn't use it, of course, no matter how much he deserved it. It was still cruel.

I asked him to please tell me the code. The prod buzzed with electricity. He gasped, "**I . . . will tell . . . you!**"

"Then tell me."

He did, and true to my word, I withdrew the weapon, the code branded in my mind. Only one last thing to do. I grasped my knife with both hands and stabbed the soft spot. The Overlord's body slacked and all signs of life ceased.

I regained my composure. There were more skitters coming, mechs too, I could hear their distinctive humming. I had to return to the 2nd Mass to deliver the information I gathered.

I crossed over to one of the walls and summoned all my strength. In one instant, I caught a whiff of lilac, which made me sad. My mother always went around smelling of lilac.

And so I realized why I smelled it. She was there, with me—I could almost feel her warm embrace and see her loving smile. I knew what I must do. I raised one fist and punched it into the wall, leaving a tiny crack.

At first, I thought nothing would happen. Then, the cracks in the wall multiplied, the structure around me crumbling like pastry crust, revealing slivers of light.

Hope blossomed in my chest. I broke through what was left of the walls and, without looking down, jumped.

I underestimated the distance.


	6. Homeward Bound

**A/N: Not much to say except mucho thanks for all the reviews! This chapter is dedicated to wombat-of-awesomeness, the first to comment on every single chapter of every single fic, even though she doesn't watch Falling Skies. (She should, though, right?!)**

Luckily, I remembered just in time that long falls where nothing for me. I landed lightly on my feet and took off sprinting into the think trees, branches slapping at my face and tearing at my clothes. I ran, knowing that I had a couple of mechs hot on my heels.

I didn't know how to get rid of them—I highly doubted that the 2nd Mass would appreciate me leading a bunch of killing machines (literally!) back to camp. I was going to have enough trouble getting everyone to believe my story.

A plan sprouted like a seed in my head. I took to the trees, confusing the mechs. They couldn't tell where I was.

They looked around, trying to figure out my position. I doubled back, swinging silently from the branches to the ship, where I would retrieve the cattle prod I had so stupidly left behind.

_Huuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . _

_Huuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . _

Oh, no. A mech had followed me back. Improvising, I swung the weapon around, blocking a few bullets that were coming at a steady stream from the mech. Dodging a few more, I jumped up as high as I could and grabbed onto a beam on the ceiling. Gymnast-style, I did a few fancy flips and flops and somehow managed to land on the mech's back.

It flailed around crazily, trying to reach me, but I held on tight to a panel on its back, not sure what to do.

_A panel_ . . . a panel! I wrenched it upwards, uncovering a tiny keypad. I punched in the code, _27396_, and the mech powered down with a barely audible _whoooooo . . . . _

I retraced my steps back to where I'd left the other mech. Sure enough, it was still there, scratching its head and humming bemusedly. Poor unsuspecting thing. Ha.

I did the same thing to this one that I did to the other, and before I knew it, I was racing back to the 2nd Mass at top speed, dashing through the treetops on some sorting of destructive high. Using my sense of smell, I located the camp, which had not moved an inch since I'd left, in no time at all.

I was greeted by screams when I flew into the camp—people were shocked that I'd returned, and wondering if I was still being influenced by the skitters. I flew out of the trees, landing gracefully in front of whom else but Captain Weaver himself. His stone-hard glare reflected the wariness of the citizens of the 2nd Mass.

I scanned the crowd, grateful to see Dad, Hal, and Matt among them. Hal had his arm around Maggie (thank God), who was clutching her side with a hurt look on her face. Guilt made my face flush.

I didn't avert my gaze, though, but turned back to Weaver. The crowd was silent. I spoke up and explained. Everything.

I felt it necessary to leave out the part about Mom. That was personal. When I finished my story, Weaver said, "Well, that's a nice tale, certainly, but how are we supposed to know that you aren't being controlled right at this minute?"

I knew the answer to this. "Because I know how to defeat them," I said. A few people gasped and quiet discussion rippled through the crowd. I didn't stop. "There is a code that we can use to deactivate beamers and mechs. I also figured out how to kill the Overlord aliens—a soft spot behind the left knee."

Weaver still looked skeptical. I continued, "If you go two miles north of here, you will find two deactivated mechs."

"And how do we know that this isn't a trap?" asked Weaver, still unconvinced.

Someone in the first row emitted a tiny scream. I turned to see Cleo gaping at me. The sight of her beautiful face warmed my heart. She managed a small squeak.

"Be—because . . . his spikes are gone!"

The crowd murmured. I raised a hand to my neck, and sure enough, the only sign that I ever had those dreadful spikes is a few burned spots on my skin.

"See?" shouted somebody. "He couldn't possibly be controlled now, can he?" Most agreed, judging by the conversation.

Weaver's expression softened. "Welcome home, Ben."


	7. The Things We Do for Hate

**A/N: I'm exhausted, but here's the final chapter. I got an idea for Part Three (I was eating when it came to me, just thought you might like to know), so I'll try to give you the last part of the trilogy ASAP. As always, thanks for your support. **

The touch of Cleo's warm, soft skin sent sparks up my spine. I was holding her in my arms on my cot, recovering from the events of the past couple of days. She looked up at me with her pure, sky-blue eyes and kissed me softly on the lips. My skin crackled with electricity—the good kind. I held her tighter, wanting to be like this forever, in perfect harmony.

She snuggled her head against my chest and sighed. "What's wrong, Cleo?" I asked.

"Well . . ." she hesitated. I waited. "You—you said that you had amnesia, at least for a little while and . . ." she paused.

"Yes?" I urged her.

"And you forgot about me?"

Sadness weighed down on me. "Yeah, but one of the first memories I recovered was of you."

This seemed to satisfy her. She closed her eyes and sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of contentment. I buried my face in her hair. Hmm. Lavender. Such a sweet smell—perfect for Cleo.

I whispered the words that I had wanted to say for so long in her ear, "I love you."

She looked deep into my eyes and repeated the words that I just said; this time with such a smile on her face that it made me wonder if it really was hate that drove me to do all the things that I did today.

Unease fluttered in my heart. Yes, it was hate. No matter how much I loved Cleo, it would always be hate that drove me to fight.

Some people are pushed to do things because they want to please others. Some people do things because of love or respect or out of promises. I am not one of these people.

I am sorry to say that I am pushed on by revenge, bitterness, and hate. I seek revenge for the deaths of so many. I am bitter because of the nagging sensation inside me that says we'll never be able to beat these aliens, even with the secret weapons I acquired. I hate what the skitters did to me.

I love Cleo with all my heart, but the matter remains that love is simply not enough to incite the burning need to kill all skitter, mechs, and Overlords. I care for my dad and my brothers. I respect Captain Weaver. But it's not enough.

Some may say that I have an evil soul or no trace of a soul at all, because I am so inspired by my hate. Maybe I don't have a soul. Maybe they're right. I can't say that I care so much about an afterlife anymore. I'll welcome death, in fact, if it means that the aliens will all suffer for what they did and are still doing.

When they are gone, my purpose will be served.

I would be sad to leave Cleo, but even though her love means everything to me, I would not sacrifice the lives of millions to be with her. It sounds, harsh, I know, but remember—I am not driven by love.

I am driven by the things I would do for hate.


End file.
